


no more dreaming

by stilinski



Series: Silly Shorts (Tumblr Ficlets) [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College Student Stiles, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, moving in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinski/pseuds/stilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn’t really move in so much as he gradually imposes his presence on Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no more dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [Tumblr](http://obroech.tumblr.com/post/121605237581). Title from Lucy Spraggan's "Butterflies" because 1) it's cute, 2) it's what I'm listening to right now and 3) I'm terrible at titles. Welp.
> 
>  
> 
> **Additionally: I do not give my consent for my work to be shared on GoodReads, or any other site with a similar objective. Ever. No exceptions.**

There's no formal invitation, no fanfare at all - Derek doesn’t suddenly present Stiles with a drawer with a bow on it or a freshly cut key (mostly because Stiles got a key cut years ago, and Derek’s closet doesn’t have drawers).

Stiles doesn’t really move in so much as he gradually imposes his presence on Derek until Derek gets fed up and doesn’t even bother asking.

Some time after they start sleeping together (during Stiles’ first spring break from University) but slightly before Stiles actually pins Derek down and tells him they’re dating (winter break of the same year), Stiles starts turning up at the loft instead of going home at night. Mostly weekends, to begin with, with Stiles home seemingly to visit his father, but after a while it begins to happen on week nights, too: Stiles jumps in his car on a Wednesday after his only class lets out, lets himself into Derek's apartment a couple hours later while Derek's at work, and refuses to leave until the following morning when he has to run for his afternoon class on a Thursday.

So it’s a very gradual thing, because Stiles spends plenty of his time two hours away at school where he has an apartment with Scott and Kira, but Derek, Stiles will later find out, notices it happening because he suddenly has an abundance of plaid shirts and therefore a reason to be separating dark clothing from coloured when he’s doing the laundry.

It's summer break between Stiles' second and third years and Stiles is spending at least five nights out of seven at Derek's, so it's nothing unusual that he lets himself into the apartment after one of the classes he's picking up at the community college and Derek's not home (because Derek has a _job_ , Stiles reminds himself delightedly). He gets about twelve steps in before he has to pause, sensing a disturbance in the force. He dumps his jacket over the arm of the couch, feeling inexplicably off kilter, and sets about investigating.

It takes him almost thirty minutes to figure out and a further thirty to catalogue the dozens of tiny, ostensibly irrelevant, changes that have been made to the apartment.

In their - Derek's? Their? _Derek’s_ \- bedroom, all of the clothes Stiles has not-so-subtly been bringing over and abandoning are hanging, washed and dried, right beside Derek’s in his closet instead of being shoved under the bed, or in the hamper, or wherever else Stiles had managed to squirrel them away in the half conscious hope that Derek won’t notice they’re there until Stiles isn’t around to take them with him. There's a lamp on the bedside table that's never been there before - Derek walks around in the dark half the time, which Stiles has always found endearing and irritating in equal measure, and there are new curtains because Stiles always wakes up facing the window.

In the bathroom, there’s a new bottle of Stiles’ preferred brand of shower gel and his toothbrush is in the cup under the mirror instead of non-committally set to one side of the sink where Stiles usually leaves it; his razor is beside Derek’s in the cabinet instead of in the toiletries bag Lydia had insisted on him using when he went away to college. Even his hair wax and shaving foam are lined up neatly beside Derek's.

Back through in the living room - or, the open plan area that acts as a living room, Stiles’ DVD’s are sorted alphabetically with Derek’s in the rack under the TV instead of being stacked up to one side of it; Stiles’ science fiction and fantasy books are shelved, also alphabetically, in the bookcases alongside Derek’s non-fiction instead of being confined to their own shelf. There's a soft plaid blanket folded over the back of the armchair Stiles tends to commandeer whenever he's over - Stiles is constantly complaining that the heating in the apartment sucks.

A new jar of Stiles’ favourite brand of flavoured instant coffee sits, unopened, next to Derek’s organic grounds in the kitchen; Stiles’ Cinnamon Crunch next to Derek’s Lucky Charms (okay, so that one's not really a huge stretch); brand name dish soap because Stiles’ skin gets all tight and sore with the store's own make; there’s even a new Batman mug on the mug tree among Derek’s boring, six-for-six-bucks plain ones.

Stiles wanders back out into the hall where the shoe rack Lydia insisted on is - Stiles’ Chucks and a pair of his sneakers are shoved beside Derek’s loafers and running shoes - just as Derek himself is walking in the door. It’s only when Derek goes to hang his keys on the hook above the shoes that Stiles notices it.

“There’s a new hook,” he says quietly, because he’s not sure what else to say - he’s feeling ever so slightly overwhelmed. Derek gives him a droll look, shrugging out of his jacket to hang up and kicking his shoes off as he slides the front door closed behind him. Stiles blinks at him and Derek says nothing, leans in to peck Stiles’ mouth before continuing on towards the kitchen.

Stiles stares at the extra hook - there’d only been three when he’d left for class that morning - one for Derek’s apartment and Toyota keys, one for the keys to the Camaro and the old Hale house, and one for the storage locker Derek uses as a garage. There are four, now and Stiles isn’t sure what to do because all the other changes, those were small but this--this is _something_ , something more than everything else combined, maybe.

Following a hunch, Stiles scrambles through the apartment to pick up his abandoned jacket from the couch, rifling through the pockets to find his key ring. Chewing on his lower lip, Stiles crosses back to the key rack and hangs up his keys, probably with more care than necessary.

He stares at them for a long few minutes and then spins on his heel to find Derek leaning in the kitchen doorway already watching him, looking the very definition of casual with his crossed arms and slightly tipped head. His eyes are curious, though, and his mouth is pulled up slightly in the corner which gives his feigned nonchalance away.

“There’s a new hook,” Stiles says again; Derek’s eyebrows twitch.

“You’re definitely your father’s son,” he says dryly. “So observant. He’ll be so proud.”

Stiles draws closer, still clutching his jacket. For all of his bravado, for all of his hiding his clothes and stealthily imposing himself on Derek, he kind of craves the acknowledgement of what’s happening.

“I noticed the mug, and my DVD’s, and my toothbrush and–and, my clothes,” Stiles says. He gazes at Derek, still feeling a little off-centre. “I can stay?”

Derek cracks a wry grin. “I was under the impression you already were,” he says; Stiles scowls at him and he lets his arms drop, pushing off the door frame to close the distance between them and cup Stiles’ jaw. “You can stay.”

Stiles leans in and kisses him, ruins it by grinning, and kisses him again anyway. He pauses, leaning back. “Does that mean–”

“You’re not bringing the bong lamp home,” Derek says sharply. “I’m a cop, Stiles, and your dad is my boss - I’m drawing the line at drug paraphernalia. You can have your God-awful coffee and continue hiding your clothes around the apartment like some creepy squirrel, but bong lamps are not happening.”

Stiles pouts. Derek places a hand over his face and shoves him gently, laughing. “Go and shower - we can watch some of your terrible movies. I brought popcorn home.”

Home, Stiles thinks, trying and failing to smother a grin as he ambles toward the bathroom, where he notices a second towel folded over the rail where there's usually only one. _Home_.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://obroech.tumblr.com/) \-- come say hi! :)


End file.
